The Blue Box in 221B
by writeswithfeatherquills
Summary: It's a quiet day on Baker Street... for now. When a strange blue box inexplicably appears in John and Sherlock's sitting room, they are left speechless by it, and the man in it, more times than they would care to admit. But a quick trip through time and space may be just what the bored detective needs. T for language and violence only. No slash.
1. Chapter 1- A Big Blue Box

**A/N: Hey guys! This is my first fic, you are warned! I hope you all like it though. The doctor is companionless at the moment, after Donna left, but it is the 10****th**** Doctor still. Sherlock is in the point in time right after HOTB. All constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, especially if I write a character as OOC. Reviews will be rewarded with virtual cookies! Thanks!**

It was a quiet day on Baker Street. The rain, which had been sprinkling on and off throughout the week, was holding off at the moment, but the thick clouds hung low over the city, as if reminding it's people of the ever-present possibility. The city was already up and moving, despite the –relatively- early time of 8:00. Even Sherlock, who was a notoriously late riser when he actually slept, was up, looking over some case files while John sat in his armchair, reading a book.

Slowly, Sherlock leaned back in the chair, staring at he ceiling for a minute before closing his eyes and sighing.

"Nothing." He murmured quietly.

"Pardon?" John asked, looking up. Sherlock's head snapped forwards, eyes flinging open as he leapt from the chair and began pacing the room.

"Nothing! Nothing interesting in the slightest is going on. No murders, no suicides, not even gang violence- it's maddening, John! Something exciting needs to happen!" John smirked slightly, but he knew that if the consulting detective didn't find something to do soon, he'd soon drag John down into his pit of boredom-induced insanity as well.

"Well…" John began. "Why don't you…why…wh- God, what IS that noise?!" He grumbled, setting down the book and looking around the flat. Sherlock had also frozen mid-rant, listening intently. A soft noise could be heard, but it grew louder with each passing second, until the grinding, whooshing noise was so loud that it pressed against the two men's eardrums almost painfully. A strong wind had begun to pick up, sending papers flying around the flat in a frenzy. John jumped up, spinning around looking for whatever was causing it.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" He shouted over the noise. Sherlock stood frozen in place, staring at the spot right in front of their coffee table, where a shape was beginning to appear. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, as the big blue box solidified, sitting smack dab in the middle of their sitting room as if it had always been there. The wind died away suddenly, and the papers fluttered to a stop. John stared open-mouthed at the thing, then looked to Sherlock, then back to the box, then back to Sherlock, completely bewildered.

"Is- is this y-yours?" he asked. "one of your... experiments?" Sherlock shook his head mutely, and took a small step towards the police box. John put a hand over his gun, and slowly, Sherlock put a tentative finger on the box, frowning when it remained solid and silent.

"Well." John said quietly. "You did want something exciting to happen." Suddenly, the door flew open. Sherlock leapt back, and a tall man stumbled out of the box, waving his hand in front of his face and coughing- a considerable amount of smoke had followed him out into the flat, rendering it almost impossible to see him at all.

"Where in the blue blazes am I now- oh! Hello!" The smoke had cleared, and Sherlock and John stood staring at a tall, thin man wearing a pin-stipe suit and a trench coat, along with some well-worn Converse and a shocking head of hair that rivaled Sherlock's in it's disheveldness. The man frowned and looked around, then walked to the window and pulled the curtain back a bit, peeking out. "London..." He mused to himself. He spun around to face the two, and said "London, right? We're in London? What year is it?"


	2. Chapter 2- Welcome to the TARDIS

**A/N: Hello again! Thanks to everyone who read/favorite/reviewed the first chapter, sorry it was so short! This one's a bit longer, hope you like it! **

John shook himself out of his stupor, and said "Sorry, who are you? And what, exactly, are you doing here?"

The man smiled jovially and said "I'm the Doctor!" Then the smile faded, and he drew his eyebrows together in thought as he continued "And honestly, I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here. The TARDIS has been in a bit of a mood lately, rough trips and bumpy landings and mucking up the machinery... Where am I, exactly?"

John stammered out "L-London, yeah. 221B Baker Street? You're in our flat...somehow." the Doctor grinned, and muttered "oh really..." Sherlock took this moment to finally move, and turned away from the box reluctantly to face the Doctor.

"Doctor, is it? You mentioned a... a TARDIS?" He looked extremely confused, and the Doctor exclaimed "Yeah! The TARDIS! It's an acronym, stands for Time and Relative Dimension In Space. I suppose you would call it my ship..." He placed a hand on the box and grinned at it, then turned to face Sherlock again. "Well, when I say ship-"

John broke in, "That's a ship?" pointing to the box and smiling at the pure ridiculousness of the situation.

"No, it can't be, it's just a 1962 London Police Box." Sherlock said, still squinting at the doctor, lips pursed slightly.

The Doctor shook his head and said "Nope, it's definitely not just a 1962 police box. It's my box. And She is so much more than just a ship. Really, that's such a limited term." he grinned, looking quite pleased with himself.

"But- how can that be a ship?" John asked. "It looks barely big enough to fit you!" The Doctor grinned and opened his mouth, as if about to say something, then apparently thought better of it, his eyes wandering off to some memory that left him looking sad and -in John's opinion- rather lonely. Sherlock huffed, and said "Doctor, who are you?!" obviously struggling to keep his voice down. John glanced at his friend, and was surprised to see his face looking like it always did when confronted with a tough problem. But that rarely ever happened when Sherlock met someone, usually he could deduce everything about them down to what they had for breakfast within a few minutes. But now he just looked bewildered.

"I already told you, I'm the Doctor." He said calmly. "And, if you'll excuse me, I need to attempt to fix the TARDIS here. With any luck, I'll be gone soon, and you two can just forget I was ever here! You'll be right back to your normal life, normal timeline..." with that he pushed open the door and slipped inside, letting out a few more tendrils of smoke.

John looked to Sherlock, who was still staring at the spot where the mysterious Doctor was just a few minutes ago. "Sherlock, what was that?!" He shout-whispered, unsure of if the Doctor could hear their conversation from inside the box...ship...thing. Whatever it was, it was silent as a tomb now. Sherlock shook his head and said "I don't know..." John opened his eyes wide, looking once more at the anomaly that somehow managed to stump the great Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock sat down in his chair and stared out into empty space, thinking hard.

"He seems to be in his mid thirties, very athletic, if skinny, and seems to run around quite a bit, judging from the state of the jacket." John put his hands in his pockets and sat on the arm of his own chair, listening to Sherlock ramble off his deductions. Usually John tuned them out somewhat, however brilliant they were, but now he paid rapt attention. "He's been traveling, obvious, used to travel with another person, female, but they've left recently. He's seen war, but long ago, long enough to grow adept at keeping up a jovial façade. He works machines frequently, and knows them very well, but..." He narrowed his eyes and put his hands on his head, a look of frustration taking over his face. "He doesn't make sense! He looks to be thirty, yet he has no scars, or stretch marks on his skin, no anything! By that time in someone's life, they've bound to pick up at least a few scars or marks or something, but he has nothing! It's like he was born a week ago as a thirty year old! But his eyes... they're so old! Plus all that nonsense about spaceships and timelines, he talked about them as if he dealt with it every day!" the door of the TARDIS opened again and the Doctor stuck his head out.

"Talking about me, are you?" He grinned and then pointed at Sherlock. "You, sorry, what's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor's jaw dropped open and he laughed with surprise.

"Sherlock Holmes! THE Sherlock Holmes! I don't believe it! Of all the things!" He stepped out of the TARDIS and stuck his hand out. Sherlock took it, and the Doctor shook his hand eagerly. "It is a pleasure to meet you sir, I've heard so much about you!"

"I...see." Sherlock glanced at John, who hid a smirk from Sherlock and his new fan.

"And actually," The Doctor said "This is perfect, because I need a bit of help with the TARDIS, I was wondering if you knew anything about transteleportion dimensional physics?"

Sherlock replied "No, and I doubt if it even exists." only slightly haughtily. The Doctor scoffed. "Of course it exists, I just never bothered to learn it. Oh well, you're the smartest man on Earth, I'm sure you can figure it out. Mind giving me a hand?" He moved towards the Box and grabbed the handle, then looked back at Sherlock expectantly. John, afraid of getting left behind in the excitement, as happened with his flatmate sometimes, cleared his throat loudly to catch the Doctor's attention.

"Oh! Yes! You must be the famous Dr. Watson then! Pleasure sir!" He shook John's hand as well. "Both of you, come on!" when they hesitated, he turned to face Sherlock, his voice turning surprisingly serious. "I really do need your help, and it shouldn't take long, but if I get stuck in 21st century London- which I'm guessing is what this is, you never told me the year- I'll go insane. I was never meant to stay in one place, you see, and I have other work to do. So...please."

Sherlock nodded slowly, still slightly baffled, and the Doctor smiled again. "Wonderful! Well, then, Allons-y!" he pulled the door open and stepped into the box, leaving the door ajar for the two visitors.

Sherlock stepped into the box and froze- again. God, that was annoying.

He forced himself to move and gripped the handrail that should not have been there. "Doctor..." he ventured. Just then John stepped in.

"Bloody Hell!" He whispered.

"Hey! No cursing, she doesn't like it." The Doctor shouted from across the console. Sherlock looked up at the huge room he was in, that should not have been there.

"This... this is... impossible!" He whispered. "It's..."

"Bigger on the inside, I know. Time Lord technology." The Doctor grinned at them, enjoying this immensely. He always did. Sherlock ran out of the machine, and stared at it from the outside. And ordinary old police box. He ran around the sides, running his hand over the painted wood, his breath coming in short gasps. This. Was. Not. Possible! He ran to the front of the box, and stuck his head in, looking at the enormous room, then stepped back out, at the seven foot tall box. In, out. In, out. He stormed into the box and right up to the Doctor, who was no longer grinning, and indeed, seemed to be slightly worried.

"You." Sherlock growled, grabbing the Doctor by his jacket. "What the hell is this? Have you drugged us? Are you working for my brother? Moriarty? Magnussen? WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!"

"Easy, mate, easy! C'mon, this is my best jacket!" the Doctor estranged himself from Sherlock's grip at the same time as John stepped in and pulled Sherlock backwards, muttering "Calm down! Stop it!" However, John had a peculiar wild look in his eye as well. The Doctor turned his gaze to Sherlock, looking slightly wounded.

"I don't work for anyone, Mr. Holmes. I tried it once, on a moon in the Belphora System, AC-09008, they called it. A beautiful place, they've got the most interesting trees, they actually grow sideways!" As the man continued his ridiculously long story, Sherlock drew his eyebrows together in an irritating mix of confusion and anger and fear. Who the hell was this man- if he was even that- and how could he be so calm about this insane situation?

"So then, what do you do, exactly, that takes you to these... places?" John asked as calmly as he could, keeping a firm grip on Sherlock's arm, who seemed to John to be on the verge of a psychological meltdown.

"Oh, I'm just a traveler." he said vaguely, then ducked underneath the console and began fiddling with something out of view. "Well, Mr. Holmes, care to come take a look? See what you can make of this?"

The Doctor's voice floated up to the two men, sounding oddly disembodied. Sherlock was still flustered about the man, who jumped from one crazy subject to the next with barely any pause, as if it were normal. But By God, he was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective, and he'd be damned if he couldn't calm down and figure it out.

He released the banister, straightened his suit jacket, and walked over to where the Doctor had disappeared, regaining his composure somewhat. The Doctor was kneeling down in some hideous nest of wires, and pointing at things with an odd looking instrument. Sherlock got down on his knees and looked at the panel.

"What do you make of that?" The Doctor asked, and Sherlock peered closer, moving wires around and poking at receptors and invertors and all sorts of things, yet he only recognized about half of the things spilling out of the console, the other half, he assumed, must be alien or something. Well, he was on an alien spaceship, but wouldn't that mean...?

Pushing the thought away, he said "I think you might have a connection problem..." Sherlock pointed to a few wires. "Wear and tear indicating that they used to run closely to each other, therefore they must have been attached to these receptors here and here" he pointed. "But now one of them is attached to a completely different receptor, and the rest aren't attached at all. These wires have the rubber casings cut, which would allow some energy to escape, if it wanted to, and the bare wires running in through here would have sufficient charge to attract electricity out of the wires, bringing unnecessary and obscene amounts of power to this adaptor, and leaving almost no power whatsoever for...whatever that is." he pointed to a round button that was clear, but oddly carved, like an insect's compound eye.

While he delivered the deductions, he studied the Doctor discreetly, trying to figure him out. And now he was left with only one option, only one possible solution: The Doctor was not human. As Sherlock was having this slightly concerning revelation, the Doctor was staring at the wiring with shock, muttering to himself.

"You're completely right! Everything you said was spot-on, I never would've seen that!" Indeed he wouldn't have, the mess of wires was so confusing. "And that button is the igniting fuse reactor, by the way, it channels the energy to the engines, THAT'S why the TARDIS wasn't running right! Gosh, what could've happened to her?" He trailed off, putting wires back in their proper places. Sherlock stood up, and after a moment, so did the Doctor, the previously silent TARDIS making noises that would typically come from an engine, and a few that Sherlock had never heard before.

"There we go, happy as a clam!" the doctor exclaimed. Sherlock looked at the doctor, his eyes demanding answers. The Doctor sighed. "Well, I suppose you boys want a bit of an explanation?"

"Uh, yes, please." Said John, who had been standing by while the other two were fiddling with the wires and such, staring in fascination at all the controls. The Doctor nodded.

"Tea, anyone?" he asked. Sherlock and John both nodded, and the Doctor pulled two stools out of seemingly nowhere, gestured for them to sit, and went off to get some tea.

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please review to let me know what you think! All constructive criticism is **_**greatly**_** appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3- Interrogation over Tea

**A/N: To anyone reading this, thank you so much! I'm surprised that this has gotten the attention it has, even if it isn't much. Thank you all. Sorry this chapter is a bit short, and is mostly dialogue. **

**I'm afraid I'm not sure I've said this before, but I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! Not the characters, or their previous escapades, nuthin'! All rights go to BBC *sigh***

Chapter 3

When the Doctor got back, he set the tray down on an edge of the console that somehow had no buttons or switches or knobs, and sat back.

"Well, what all do you want to know?" Sherlock picked up his cup and stared at the Doctor, looking over him yet again.

"What are you?" he asked. John nearly spit out his tea at the bluntness of his flatmate, partly shocked at the -horrifically rude- question, and partly surprised at what it suggested.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, but the Doctor grinned, and said "No, no, quite alright. I'm a Time Lord." After an ever so slight pause, he added "The last of the Time Lords." Sherlock nodded, thinking_. Flashbacks to something traumatic, probably a war. Perhaps that's what wiped out these "Time Lords"?_

"I'm sorry." said John, and the Doctor shook his head.

"Well, it's not your fault is it?"

John watched the Doctor's face, and if Sherlock had asked him, the ex-army doctor could confirm that the man-Time Lord- had indeed seen the ravages of war, and had not come out any better for it. He recognized the pain, but more acutely, he had recognized the mask fabricated to cover it. However, John noted, The Doctor didn't seem very good at keeping his up. But there was something else...

"How old are you?" John asked, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Nine hundred and something."

John looked shocked, and said "How?! I mean, you barely look more than thirty!"

"Well thank you! Us Time Lords, we have this little trick- a way of cheating death, if you will. Whenever we die, we can regenerate, grow a whole new body that'll keep us going. I'm on my tenth regeneration now."

John frowned. "That's not possible. People don't just...not die."

"Yeah well, I'm not exactly 'people' am I? I'm an alien."

John shook his head slightly, grinning to himself. Again, he wondered how the hell he had gotten himself into this ridiculous situation. It was not the first time he had found himself thinking this.

However, the Doctor misinterpreted, thinking John didn't believe him.

"Well, I am!" He said, indignantly. "I've got two hearts- Y'think your ordinary, everyday human has that? 'Cause I don't!" Sherlock and John froze, and John looked at the Doctor.

"Two hearts?"

"Yeah, Time Lords have two hearts. Check for yourself." He pulled a stethoscope out from somewhere in his pockets, and handed it to John. John took it skeptically, and put the earpieces in, putting the metal disk on the Doctor's chest with a hand he really wished wasn't trembling so much. He heard a heart, right where it was supposed to be, working fine. But there was something else, a soft echo. Hardly daring to believe it, John moved the stethoscope to the left, on the other side of the ribcage.

His breath caught in his throat when he heard the solid thumping of an undeniable second heart.

He swallowed, and slowly removed the earpieces from his ears. He wordlessly handed the stethoscope to the Doctor, not looking at him.

"Well?!" Sherlock asked, curious. John nodded mutely, then seemed to find his voice.

"Yes, yes he's got...two. Two hearts." he laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. "He's not lying."

"Of course he's not. I'd know it if he was." Sherlock scoffed. Then John stopped, and something clicked in his head.

"So, if you really are an alien..."

"Yes." The Doctor replied, grinning.

"And everything you said about Time Lords... is true..." The Doctor nodded.

John looked at the Doctor with a mixture of pity and fear. "You've died ten times?!" he whispered.

The Doctor looked thoughtful and said "I suppose, yeah. But it's been loads of fun, mostly." John was shocked at this, remembering his terror facing Death in Afghanistan, and trying to wrap his head around the fact that this Doctor had done it so many times over.

Sherlock, however, kept up the interrogation, as that was what the conversation had turned into. "You mentioned time frequently before, and now Time Lords, am I right in assuming that..." he frowned, not quite able to make himself say it.

"I time travel? Yup. Anywhere in time and space. I could go anywhere, and be home in time for dinner!" he laughed a bit. "In fact, the TARDIS here, she's a time machine. My own little ticket to the universe." Sherlock stood up, and started pacing for the second time that day, his footsteps clanking against the metal floor. He shook his head, and looked at the Doctor as he moved.

"No, no, no. see, aliens are possible. It even makes sense, a bit. The ship is okay, even the whole bigger-on-the-inside bit could work. But time travel? That is a physical impossibility. It cannot happen."

The doctor grinned, and proposed "Well, what if I could prove it to you?" Sherlock frowned.

"Prove it to me?" Sherlock asked. The Doctor shrugged.

"Well, I proved to John that I've got two hearts, I'll prove to you that I time travel. Honestly though, you two aren't very trusting. Why won't you just believe me?"

John laughed. "Strange man shows up in a magic box and starts talking like a nutter? Not exactly gonna believe you right away, mate."

Sherlock ignored the comment and asked "How?" The Doctor rolled his eyes at the query.

"Of all the people to ask stupid questions, Sherlock, really. I'd take you and Dr. Watson of course!" John set his own cup down and interjected "hold on now- take us where?"

"Anywhere you'd like! Consider it a thank-you gift for helping me get the TARDIS back up and running." Sherlock was quiet for a while, and looked like he was about to decline the offer, but John piped up.

"Yeah, we'd love to go." Sherlock whipped his head around to stare at John. Since when did he make the decisions?!

"Oh come on, Sherlock. When in the world are we ever going to get another chance like this again?! And weren't you just complaining five minutes ago that you were bored? That you wanted something exciting to happen?!" Sherlock stopped pacing, and his voice rose to a level just louder than John's, getting louder as he spoke. Sherlock Holmes was confused, an emotion he certainly didn't do well with, and it angered him. And as if that weren't enough, now John was suggesting he wanted this?! No, that was too much for the man. He had been hiding his frustration at not understanding pretty well up until this point, but now it came pouring out.

"Well, yes, something exciting! Something interesting, but not something that would take the very laws of physics and turn them on their heads, John! Not something that would shatter every single rule that governs our world, that makes it make sense! Not something that could literally change the course of human history and make modern science seem like a child's game! This is NOT something I wanted, John, do you have ANY idea the disarray my Mind Palace is in right now?! I'm telling you, This. Is. IMPOSSIBLE!" There was silence for a while, except of course for the TARDIS, and Sherlock's sharp breathing from his rant. After an awkward and shocked silence, the Doctor cautiously asked, "Well, I do my best to avoid changing any major events… I take it you're… not coming, then?"

There was a short silence in which Sherlock closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath before answering quietly.

"No, of course we're coming."

The Doctor shot out of his chair as if he had been jabbed with a hot poker, shouting "BRILLIANT!" as he raced to the console and began running around it, pushing buttons and twisting knobs, and pulling levers. All in all, Sherlock noticed, it looked not entirely unlike a dance.

"Oh, this'll be wonderful! The great Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, in the TARDIS, going who-knows-where, exploring the universe!" The Doctor stopped to look at them for the briefest of moments, and Sherlock saw his eyes were filled with excitement. He grinned against his will, the pure joy in the Doctor's frantic rushing around was simply contagious. John was smiling ear to ear, and chuckled, looking at Sherlock and asked "Still bored then?"

**A/N: Thanks again for reading guys! Please review! They make us storytellers jump for joy! (note to self: gotta repair that ceiling)**


	4. Chapter 4- Shock and Awe

**A/N: Thanks very much to the kind review from the guest in chapter two! *throws cookie-confetti on guest* Sorry I keep forgetting to thank you all for your wonderfulness, but I really do appreciate it. **

Chapter 4

Soon the whooshing noise pounded through the air, and the TARDIS began to move slightly. The Doctor continued to bob and weave his way around the control panels, while Sherlock and John grabbed onto the handrails to keep from falling over.

"I've set it to random, so even I have no idea where we'll end up!" the Doctor shouted over the noise.

"What the hell kind of time machine has a 'random' setting?!" John yelled.

"I have no idea!" Sherlock replied, gripping the handrail tighter as a peculiarly violent jolt sent the whole floor shifting 5 degrees slantwise. The Doctor nearly fell over, but grabbed a lever and held on for dear life, laughing.

Sherlock watched the Doctor weave around the console, trying to figure out which lever or knob did what, but he couldn't understand the complicated dance, no matter how hard he tried. It seemed to him that the Doctor was just kind of… winging it.

"Ooh!" The Doctor paused for a moment, looking at one of the computer monitors. He grinned to himself, and said "Let's stop here for a second!"

He twisted some more levers, then slowly pulled a knob down, and the sound of engines faded to a dull hum. Sherlock brushed off his coat, and John stood up, groaning.

"Turbulence?" He asked, only partly joking.

"Well, we're going through the Time Vortex, one of the most intense forms of energy to ever exist! It permeates the very fabric of reality, it's literally the fuel for the universe, of course it's going to be a bit bumpy!" The Doctor said, walking towards the door. "But, I saw that we were going by the Calpernium Nebula. You two really have to see this." He grinned and gestured to the door.

"Nebula? You mean we're in space?" John asked. Sherlock started towards the Doctor, who casually replied "Well of course!" The Doctor reached for the door, and Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Are you insane? If you open that door, the pressure difference will suck us out into space, and we'll all die!" Sherlock said, but the Doctor pulled his arm away and groaned slightly.

"Wow, they never said you were such a drama queen in the books. Of course we won't die, the TARDIS will protect us! Look!" and he pulled open the door with a flourish.

Sherlock was about to ask what the Doctor meant by 'books' but the thought was shoved from his head completely as he saw what was on the other side of the blue doors, staring in amazement at a sight he had never hoped to see in his wildest dreams.

"John..." He murmured distractedly. "You should really see this..." The Doctor grinned widely, sticking his hands in his pockets and watching Sherlock.

John picked himself up, and rushed to the open door. What he saw there took his breath away.

The two men (and alien) stood, staring out into the blackest space either had ever seen, dotted with stars that shone so much brighter, and cleaner than at home. But that wasn't all. No, the most interesting thing, by a landslide, was the giant swirling mass of rainbow gasses. Sherlock could find no words for it, it was so grand, so absolutely massive, he was stunned into submission by the sheer size of the thing, and nearly brought to tears by its beauty. And it was no easy thing, to bring Sherlock Holmes to tears.

Some stars twinkled bravely through thinner sections of the cloud-like celestial body, which was a swimming array of colors, all blending together and shifting slightly, the way wispy clouds do on a windy day, moving slowly but surely. Sherlock and John had never seen anything like it, and knew they probably never would again, and so they stared for minutes, before Sherlock finally said "It's beautiful."

"Yeah." the Doctor smiled. Not a crazy happy smile but a content one, more amused than anything. "That's mostly why I travel you know. Stuff like this, it just takes your breath away." Sherlock nodded distractedly, and John chuckled to himself. He could hardly believe that less than five minutes ago, he had been sitting in his old chair, reading a book, the most of his worries a bored sociopath.

After a few more minutes, the Doctor turned around, and started walking back to the controls. "Well, c'mon, we've got places to be!" He called cheerfully. "Shut the door, please?" he asked, and Sherlock reluctantly pulled the door closed. Then he realized something.

"Wait a second, Doctor, the sign on the outside of the door says 'pull to open'." Sherlock looked at the Doctor questioningly. The Doctor groaned.

"Yes, yes, I know." And then the conversation was ended by the resuming of the screeches and whooshes and bangs coming from the TARDIS as it started up again, whizzing through space.

**A/N: Sorry, not a whole lot of action in this chapter- the story picks up in the next one, I promise! It'll most likely be pretty long too. Please review, they bring joy to all, and cookies to you! **


	5. Chapter 5- Little Boy on an Alien Planet

**A/N: Hello again! Sorry this chapter took a bit longer than normal, I hope the fact that it's pretty long makes up for that. Finally the Doctor and his guests get somewhere, eh? It's about time for something to happen, methinks…**

Chapter 5

When the TARDIS stopped, the Doctor stepped away from the controls, and looked at Sherlock and John.

"Well, here we are." He said.

"Where is 'here' exactly?" asked John. The Doctor shrugged.

"Let's find out!" he called, running across the room to the door, and flinging it wide open. And for another time that day-he was losing count- Sherlock and John were stunned into silence. They very obviously weren't on Earth anymore- the putrid green sky and shining gold mountains reaching for it in the distance proved that. Not that much of the mountains could be seen, the majority of them were blocked by dark grey canyon walls, dotted with small holes. The canyon was completely silent, except for a harsh, chemical-smelling wind that pulled at their clothes and stung their eyes.

"Well, not the most gorgeous place in the universe, but I suppose that's what you get on random." The Doctor mused, putting his hands in his pockets and spinning around slowly, looking up.

"W-where are we?!" John whispered. At first, an alien land had seemed to be exciting, fascinating, even. But now that they were actually there, in an empty silent canyon, all he could feel was a spike of fear. He could swear that he felt millions of eyes boring into his head, and glanced nervously at the holes in the canyon walls.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked around, seeming to be taking the whole situation rather well.

"Yes, where are we, Doctor?" he asked. The Doctor grinned.

"Ah, boys, finding out's half the fun!" he said, rather loudly, John thought.

"Can't you check, in the TARDIS or something?" John asked, bewildered, taking a small step closer to Sherlock.

"Well yeah, but that'd be a bit boring, don't you think? C'mon, let's go meet the locals!" He shouted over his shoulder as he stared walking. John and Sherlock exchanged a glance, and then hurried after him.

_"newcomerssss?" a voice hissed through the darkness._

_"It would seem so, sisssster." a hand with long, slender fingers and wicked looking talons moved towards the only source of light in the room, a jagged opening in the wall that shimmered with magic._

_"Why are they here?"_

_"sightssssssseeing?" The other scowled at the light-hearted response._

_"Be serioussss, sister. If we are discovered..."_

_"Yes, yesssss, I know." the voice sighed, and then turned in the dark to a small figure that she knew would be waiting there. "Assssemble the ones who are necessssary-class 3's only. Leave the resssst outside the doorssss. Wipe their memories."_

_The small figure bowed, and scurried out of the cave._

_"It is time to move on, sisssster."_

The Doctor walked along the canyon path, looking up at the silent walls. "I wonder if anyone's even here?" he mused to himself. Then, he raised his hands to his mouth and shouted "HELLO! IS ANYONE HERE?!"

"Obviously there are, though they seem to be avoiding us." Sherlock spoke up. The Doctor turned around, looking puzzled.

"How do you know?" he asked, and Sherlock rolled his eyes and pointed to the ground. Looking down, both John and the Doctor saw a multitude of footprints in the dust, as if a large group of people had passed through.

"They must have been through very recently, or else the wind would've eradicated the footprints, also..."

As Sherlock rambled on, the Doctor looking intrigued and amused, John looked around again, and could've sworn he saw movement behind a rock a little ways off the path. Glancing back at the Doctor and Sherlock, he started off the path, his hand over his pistol. As he approached the rock, he called out "Hello?" grimacing when an unwanted tremor invaded his voice.

The rock didn't move, obviously, and John let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Of course not, what was he thinking? Plop him down in a new place and all of a sudden he's a scared little kid again? No, nothing was here.

But then a small rustle came from behind the rock, followed by a sharp intake of breath, quickly silenced. John froze, then moved slowly closer, one hand over his gun.

"Hello?" he called again. "Who are you, who's there?" a small sob came from behind the rock, and John paused, then frowned. It sounded like a child. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you." John said, using his 'doctor' voice. He walked slowly around the rock, and was shocked, to see a small, seemingly human child cowering in a patch of tall grass growing there, with its hands covering its mouth.

"Hey, shh, it's okay. It's okay, I won't hurt you. Come here." John said, squatting down and holding a hand out of the child, who eyed him warily, with no small degree of fear in his eyes. But after a few seconds, he slowly brought his hands down, and scuffled a little closer to John.

"There, that's good, come here. Let me just take a look at you." John kept murmuring quietly, so as not to spook him. He noticed the kid looked frightfully thin, just on the verge of being dangerously so. The kid came a bit closer, and reached out a tentative hand, gently putting it into John's. John smiled, and stood up, the child standing up with him, but had taken his hand back, and was cradling it against his chest. John pursed his lips and gently took the hand, looking it over.

Turning over the boy's arm, he saw a long gash that went from his elbow to his wrist. His breath caught in his throat- It was still bleeding, so it must have been recent.

"That looks like a nasty cut." he said, his mind spinning at a million miles an hour. How did that happen? He couldn't ask the kid, he clearly looked traumatized, but it must've been bad. He took off his jacket, wrapping it around the kid's cut. "C'mon, let's go get you fixed up." when John started walking, he noticed the child didn't follow, and turned around. He was eyeing him warily, as if he didn't believe John could be real.

"Who...who are you? You're not a goblin..." John frowned quizzically.

"No, of course I'm not. Why would I be a goblin?" he asked. The kid tilted his head slightly, and replied "because only the goblins deal with us. If we get sick or die or anything, they always take us away until we can come back. Or they take us to…" his voice trailed away and he stared resolutely at the ground. John frowned, not liking the sound of that at all.

At that point, it seemed that the Doctor and Sherlock had realized that John had wandered off.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked, please reeeevieeeewwww! Thankies!**


	6. Chapter 6- The Doctor, not THE Doctor

**A/N: Hey guys! Another update- this one is kinda angsty, for the kid anyways. He's a bit traumatized, and unstable *evil chuckle* However, he's still just a kid. Aaaannnd… I think he's going to be here to stay for a while, so I hope you like him! Or maybe you don't, I don't dictate your thought process.**

Chapter 6

"JOHN?!" Sherlock's voice could be heard, ringing throughout the canyon, and echoing eerily. The sound of running footsteps could be heard, and the Doctor's voice was so warped by the odd shape of their surroundings that it was almost impossible to hear him say "They always wander off! There's only one rule, why can't anybody follow it?!"

Then John realized- Sherlock was running in the wrong direction.

"Shit..." he muttered, and made to run after him, before he remembered the kid.

"Can you run?" he asked. The kid smiled proudly and nodded. "Right then, take my hand, and run!"

The kid nodded solemnly, grabbed John's hand, and surprised him entirely when he easily kept pace with John, his eyes focused grimly on the ground to avoid tripping, and leaping gracefully over obstacles. Before long, John got back to the road, and started calling after Sherlock.

"Sherlock! I'm over here!" he shouted, and immediately, Sherlock whipped around, and started sprinting towards John. When he was within ten feet of John, he started slowing down slightly, and grabbed John by the shoulders, looking him up and down with concern.

"Oh, thank god! I thought something had gotten you, or..." At this point, he noticed the kid, who had stepped slightly behind John, but was staring up at the tall, pale man with curiosity. He looked absolutely nothing like the goblins...

"What...what is that?" Sherlock asked, confusion and a hint of disgust marking his voice. Sherlock had never been very fond of children, and the fact that this one was filthy did nothing to endear him to the man.

"I found him, hiding behind a rock in fear. I have no idea where he came from, but it can't be good." Sherlock frowned, and the Doctor, who was not as fast as Sherlock somehow, came to a stop by them, gasping for air.

"What...happened...John?" He asked, and John squirmed.

"Sorry, Doctor, I thought I saw something, and went to see, and found...this kid." the Doctor frowned.

"Where did you find him?"

"Hiding behind a rock." The Doctor's frown turned deeper, and he knelt down to get on eye-level with the kid.

"Hello." He said. "I'm the Doctor, what's your name?" but the kid didn't answer, because as soon as he heard the word 'Doctor', he hid behind John's legs, gripping his trousers for dear life. A small whine escaped his lips, and the Doctor looked confused.

"Hey, no, it's okay, the Doctor's a good man, he won't hurt you either." John said softly, bending down. The kid stared at the ground, his stringy blond hair covering his face. He shook his head, and backed up a step.

"What's wrong?" John asked, but the kid just shook his head again.

"Doctor." Sherlock's voice was quiet, and he stared at the kid with icy eyes, deducing. "He hid when the Doctor said his name, so obviously he doesn't like doctors."

"The Doctor makes them go away." the kid said quietly. "Sometimes they don't come back."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"The Doctor. The goblins come, and take people to The Doctor. Sometimes they never come back. That's what happened to Daddy." The Doctor frowned.

"Well, I'm not him, I promise." He said, and the kid looked at him sheepishly, then nodded tersely.

"Okay, but I'm watching you." the Doctor grinned slightly at his small threat.

John cleared his throat, then turned to the Doctor, and said "We need to get back to the TARDIS."

"Why?"

John sighed. "Because he has a huge gash on his arm, and I'm going to fix it, there's a first aid kit on the TARDIS, right?" The Doctor nodded, and noticed John's jacket tied around the kid's arm with grim silence. As the four began walking back to the blue box, the Doctor tried to find out more about the boy.

"What's your name?"

"29071." The boy replied automatically. The Doctor frowned.

"Is that what your mum calls you?" The kid shook his head.

"No, mummy calls me Charlie. But my name is 29071."

"Where do you live, Charlie?" John asked, immediately rejecting the idea of calling a child by a number.

"In the holding place." Came the cryptic reply.

"What's that?" The Doctor asked. Charlie tilted his head, a look of immense confusion on his face, as if he had asked what space itself was. The holding place just... was, he had no idea how to explain it.

"Well, let's get you patched up." He said, having arrived back at the TARDIS. The Doctor unlocked the doors, walked in, and grabbed the kit. Charlie stepped inside the box, took one look around, then let loose an Earth-shattering shriek and raced back outside.

"NO!" he shouted. "NO! You said you weren't him! YOU SAID!" He backed away slowly, as John raced out after him, stopping just a few feet short of the child.

"Charlie, what's wrong?"

"He's The Doctor! He's going to take me! You said you weren't!" Tears streamed down his face, as he glared at John, his fragile trust bending very close to breaking.

"No, Charlie, he's not, I promise! What would make you say that?"

"He's got a lab! He's got takers! He's gonna put me in the tubes and drain me!" Charlie wailed, cowering away from the Doctor as he stepped, bewildered, out of the TARDIS.

"What do you mean, drain you?" The Doctor asked.

"You know!"

"Well, I don't, can you tell me, Charlie?" Sherlock asked, shocking everyone. Charlie seemed to calm down a bit, staring at Sherlock as he whispered "The Doctor takes people- to his lab. And, he puts them in the tubes! They're really big, and people float, and sleep. Just sleep, forever! And then he takes their energy from them, he drains them of their _life_!"

"Drains them of their life?" John asked, and Charlie nodded solemnly. "That's why mummy told me to run. We were moving, and she didn't want The Doctor to take me, so she told me to run, and hide."

John and Sherlock exchanged glances, both deciding to ask the boy about that later. One thing at a time, for now.

"Charlie, listen to me." the Doctor said, kneeling down in front of the boy, who flinched away. A look of immeasurable sorrow flitted across the Doctor's eyes, but was gone before John could tell if it was ever even there in the first place.

"Charlie, that's not a lab. Okay? It's not a lab. I'm not going to take you, I'm not going to put you in any tubes, or drain you. I promise."

Charlie glared at the Doctor for a few seconds, not sure whether or not to believe him. Then, his eyes lit up with an idea, and with a snarl, he reached out and slapped the Doctor right across the face. Then he froze, and put his hand in his pocket, gripping the sharp stone he had found, waiting to see what the Doctor would do.

The Doctor reeled back in surprise, but didn't say anything, just looked at the boy with a mixture of pity and hurt. He didn't quite understand what exactly had happened to Charlie, but he could recognize better than anyone someone who had lived their lives in fear. He rubbed his face absently, then sighed.

Charlie stared at him, his rage slowly giving way to fear, and then what looked like regret. John and Sherlock stood back, hardly daring to breathe lest they ruin whatever was happening.

"Why do you care?" Charlie asked the Doctor, his voice trembling slightly. "Nobody cares, that's what daddy said. Nobody cares about us." The Doctor frowned.

"Why wouldn't I care?" he asked, and Charlie was surprised to hear real honesty in the question.

He looked at the Doctor for a few more seconds, then took a step forwards and looked at his eyes, this small child somehow seeing what so many people missed behind the loneliness, the pain. He saw in the Doctor the genuine need to care for others, to make them happy. To save people. To be the good guy.

The Doctor held steady, and Charlie's lip trembled slightly before he wrapped his arms around the Doctor's neck, hugging him fiercely. This was not the Bad Doctor, he concluded- this one was good. Kind, like his mother. After a second, the Doctor hugged him back, and Charlie asked, "Can you help us, please, sir?" The Doctor nodded.

"Yes, of course. But first, let's take a look at that arm, okay?" Charlie let go of the Doctor and nodded, wiping at his eyes. The Doctor noticed new tear streaks on his face, but didn't say anything. Charlie walked over to John, and took his hand, leading him back to the TARDIS, making sure Sherlock and the Doctor were following. He stepped inside nervously, and looked back at the Doctor.

"If it's not a lab, what is it?" He asked. The Doctor grinned.

"It's my time machine." Charlie's eyes lit up with wonder, and all three men smiled despite themselves.

**A/N: Hope you guys liked it- I know it was a bit different. Please review with your opinions, even if they're not positive, I still love to hear them! **


	7. Chapter 7- A Worrying Story (apology)

**A/N: I am SO SO SO sorry! I can't even say how crazy my life has been recently. If any of you are in marching band, or have a friend in marching band, then you will understand. 12 hour rehearsals Saturdays and 3 to 5 hour rehearsals most other days makes any sort of writing extremely difficult. You have my humblest apologies, and a plateful of apology cookies. A quick note- this chapter is in Sherlock's POV, and starts a bit earlier than the other chapter left off. Thanks to anyone who is still reading this, and THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to the lovely review from Guest, that reminded me that I have an unfinished story! **

Chapter 7 (Sherlock's POV)

Smack! Sherlock tensed as the child- Charlie- struck the Doctor. He watched, intrigued, as the Doctor did nothing. He didn't hit the child, or yell at him, or say anything. He just sighed.

Then the boy came up to the Doctor, and stared at him in such a way that would make most people uncomfortable, and the Doctor still did nothing. And it occurred to Sherlock, how often this must happen to the Doctor. He was obviously used to dealing with frightened people, or frightened creatures, or whatever. Sherlock wondered where exactly the Doctor went with his 'traveling' that would render him experienced with that.

As the Doctor and Charlie continued their wordless examination of each other, Sherlock felt that the air was somehow heavier, weighted with importance, like the moment before he pieced together a case. The moment of determination- what would happen now. If he were the Doctor, he would feel the pulling of a million different possible universes, where Charlie made different choices. As he was, Sherlock saw in his mind a list of all the possible outcomes, from the child running away, to attacking the Doctor with the sharp rock Sherlock had noticed in his pocket earlier.

But what he saw surprised him. It was one of the less probable scenarios, but that's what happened, nonetheless. As the Doctor and Charlie embraced, Sherlock wondered if the Doctor ever did encounter a 'probable scenario'. He didn't seem the type. It was something in his eyes, a thirst for the next new thing around the bend, the excitement of discovery, that seemed so completely at odds with anything at all predictable.

As Charlie walked over to John, and took his hand, John smiled at the boy, and Sherlock followed them, walking next to the Doctor. The boy looked up at John, smiling slightly. But that small smile spoke of absolute trust- Charlie knew that The Doctor was good, and that was good. But John, now John had helped him. The Doctor was strange, and new, and a bit frightening, even if he was kind. But John was just John. Simple. A lifeline, and Charlie knew he would never ever have a reason to doubt John.

Sherlock saw all this, and though his face wouldn't show it, he was amazed yet again, by his seemingly unremarkable blogger. Who 'cared' about some random child he found behind a rock. Sherlock didn't 'care'. It was illogical-there was no point to it. But occasionally, in times like these, something inside him wondered if it might be a good thing anyways. What it might feel like to care. Maybe it wasn't such a disadvantage...but that voice was weak, tentative, and he easily pushed it down, locking it away in a remote room in his mind palace. He would deal with it later.

As he stepped into the TARDIS, The Doctor glanced at him, a look that could've meant anything. Sherlock scowled and stepped into the TARDIS behind the Doctor, pulling the door shut. He watched Charlie, and realized that while the TARDIS was strange, it looked nothing like a lab. So why did it remind Charlie of one?

Obvious.

Stupid.

Why hadn't he realized it before?

Charlie might've been human, but this Bad Doctor, whose lab looked more like a time machine than an actual scientific laboratory, must be an alien, or at least worked with alien technology.

As John cleaned the wound, Sherlock watched, observing everything he could. But what he saw confused him. The boy's wound was substantial, but Sherlock could tell that it was recent, so it would still hurt. Based on the size and location of the cut, any normal boy would be writhing in pain, yet Charlie only sat, grim-faced as John cleaned and bandaged the wound. Curious.

And that was not the only other thing about the child that was... off. Honestly, if he knew nothing else about the child, Sherlock would have deduced that he was homeless, just another street rat. He was frightfully thin, but not emaciated, as if he was fed only enough to keep him healthy. He was dirty, and his clothes were old and worn, but mended well- there were no holes. Obviously someone cared about him. But all his nonsense talk about Goblins and Holding Places and Bad Doctors and getting 'drained of their life' whatever that was supposed to mean, told another story. It would seem that the child and his family, and maybe even others, were being held hostage. Kept alive just long enough for this Bad Doctor to get what he wanted from them.

Sherlock decided he needed more information.

"Charlie," he started, "What can you tell us about this Holding Place? Describe it, please."

John glared at him. "Sherlock, now is not the time. He's had a long day, and he needs to rest."

Sherlock frowned, but Charlie shook his head. "No, I'm okay John, thank you." he flexed his arm slightly, marveling at the stark white bandages. Then he turned to Sherlock.

"The walls are made of rock, and the floor is sandy, and there are only enough pallets for all of us."

"How many of you?"

"uhhmm... a lot." Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Charlie spoke up "Hey! It's not like I could get to know all of them! But... I think I remember the Goblins saying that they were getting less and less people in, they sounded worried about it."

"So, new people came in frequently?"

"Yeah, there was a new family every cycle, when another family gets...taken." He looked down at his feet.

"But you said your father got taken, but not you, or your mother?" John glared at Sherlock, who realized his blunder only a moment later, when the child looked away, eyes shining with tears.

"Yes." he whispered, still not looking at the detective. "They took daddy, because he was bad. He tried to find us a way out. But he wasn't bad, he was brave." at the last words, he looked up, staring Sherlock dead in the eye as if daring him to say any different. Sherlock only nodded.

"And these...Goblins?"

"yeah, they're servants, and they look just like the Goblins from mama's stories, so that's what we call them. They take people away, I think...I think they work for the Bad Doctor."

Sherlock noticed The Doctor quickly hide a grin, when the boy was careful to distinguish between the Doctor and whoever was doing this to the people.

"Alright." John said. "I think that's enough information for now, why don't you get some rest, okay?" giving Sherlock a look that told him not to argue. The boy nodded, and yawned hugely. The Doctor led him off to a bedroom, while John and Sherlock stayed behind in the control room, each lost in their own similar thoughts.

**A/N: Again, so sorry for the crazy late update. The next chapter should be up within the next week or so, but I can't promise anything past that, I'm afraid. Thanks to anyone still reading, and I know I don't deserve to ask for reviews after my surprise hiatus, but I will anyways because I am shameless like that. Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 8- Living Box and Stubborn Kid

**A/N: Hey guys! I got this chapter written a bit early, and I felt I owed it to you guys to put it up ASAP. It's just filler, sorry, but the next chapter will be very action-y I promise! Hope you enjoy, and the next chapter will probably be up within a week or so.**

**P.S. **_**APPARENTLY, **_**I have to specify that I don't own either Sherlock or Doctor Who, despite the fact that if I did, this crossover would be on TV, not on my laptop, and the party would be bigger by two hunters. xD**

Chapter 8 (No longer Sherlock's POV)

When the Doctor returned, he looked at the two men, and then sighed.

"Poor kid." he said, and John nodded. He had only foggy guesses as to what was going on, but surely Sherlock had figured it all out already, that's what he did.

"Sherlock, do you have any idea-"

"Mostly, John. It seems that this 'Bad Doctor' is holding this boy and multiple others hostage, complete families only, taken from various places around the... universe. It is most likely that they are not all human, but it seems that the vast majority of them are. This 'holding place' is exactly that- a place to keep the people while this 'Bad Doctor' does his work, which seems to be using the people as a source of energy, possibly for his own uses, more likely for black market sale."

The Doctor frowned.

"That's against the shadow proclamation. Section C, subcategory R. Complete appropriation of life force for profitable uses is not allowed." He recited.

"Shadow proclamation?" John asked.

"Think of it as the Universe's Federal Laws." The doctor said. He looked back in the direction where Charlie was sleeping.

"He said that they were moving, the people... if they had a good setup, why would they do that? It doesn't make sense..." John mused.

Sherlock shot a small smile at John- already asking the right questions.

"Maybe they know we're here, and are evacuating. You probably have a pretty sizable reputation, Doctor, and your ship isn't exactly inconspicuous." Sherlock pointed out. The Doctor nodded.

Suddenly, Charlie's voice filtered over the intercom. "Doctor? I'm...uh... I'm a bit lost... where are you?"

The Doctor frowned, looking up. "How are you over the intercom? I thought you could only control it from here..." The TARDIS made a low humming sound, and the Doctor smiled. "Oh, you clever girl!" Sherlock frowned, rolling his eyes. The Doctor noticed and glared at him.

"What? I'm not allowed to talk to her?"

Sherlock huffed. "No, there's no set rule against talking to inanimate objects-"

The TARDIS rumbled angrily, and the Doctor put a placating hand on the console. "Shh, it's okay, he doesn't mean it, girl! He's just stupid about this sort of thing... it's okay." He spoke to the ship in low tones. He glared at Sherlock again.

"She's not inanimate! She's alive! So watch what you say."

John frowned. "Really?"

"Of course!"

There was an awkward silence, in which John began to wonder if the Doctor was barmy after all, and Sherlock looked closer around the interior of the ship, deducing again.

"Well, that's… interesting." John said slowly.

"Doctor?" Charlie's voice came over the intercom again.

"Yeah, hold on just a sec, Charlie, I'll find you." The Doctor called, and pointed to John and Sherlock. "You two, stay here, okay? I'll be right back." He gave one last glance at the console, and then left down a passage, presumably to find Charlie.

While the Doctor was out, John and Sherlock glanced at each other. John sighed, and Sherlock grinned. This was the most interesting thing to happen… well, ever, probably.

No, scratch that. There was one thing that happened to him that was more interesting than this, not that he would ever say what it was. Suffice it enough to say that the interesting thing came into his life quietly, with a limp, a cane, and an offered phone.

Just then the Doctor came back into the room, leading Charlie by the hand and breaking Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"Well, so much for getting some sleep." John said to Charlie, raising his eyebrows in an _I-know-what-you're-up-to_ kind of way. Charlie hid a grin, and then tugged on the Doctor's sleeve.

"Doctor, we have to save them. They're going to take them off-planet soon, and, they'll go without me, and, and… I'll never… I'll never see them again!" Panic clouded his eyes, and his voice hitched, sounding dangerously close to crying.

"Yes, of course we're going to save them, don't worry. We just wanted you to stay here so that you don't get hurt." the Doctor reassured him. Charlie shook his head.

"No, I have to come. You don't know the layout of the holding place!"

"I thought you said they weren't in the holding place, that they'd been moved." John broke in. Charlie looked at the floor.

"Well, yeah, but… It's my family!" He glared at all of them, stomping his foot.

"I'm coming, and you can't stop me!" John grinned slightly, amused and impressed by the boy's fire, but the Doctor only got down on one knee so he was eye to eye with Charlie, looking at him gravely.

"This is going to be very dangerous."

Charlie nodded vigorously.

"There will be lots of running, and probably lots of fighting."

"I'm strong!" he insisted, hope in his eyes. The Doctor hesitated, then dropped the bomb.

"We may have to face the Bad Doctor."

Charlie bit his lip, and looked at the ground, then brought the sharp rock out of his pocket, gripping it with white knuckles. He looked back up at the Doctor with grim determination.

"Good."

**A/N: I hope you guys liked it, sorry again that's it's filler (and not even very good filler) but as previously stated, the next chapter will definitely be worth reading, so stay tuned! Please review, and thanks again to you all!**


	9. Chapter 9- Into the Lion's Den

**A/N: Okay, I am officially horrible. I know. Life exploded into extra-curriculars, and homework, and finals, and family stuff, and on top of it, I thought it was a good idea to start another story. (spoiler alert—it wasn't) Anyways, as a sort of apology, here is a super long chapter, with a solid promise for the next one before the end of the month.**

Chapter 9

_Charlie bit his lip, and looked at the ground, then brought the sharp rock out of his pocket, gripping it with white knuckles. He looked back up at the Doctor with grim determination._

"_Good."_

Sherlock noted the boy's anger, thirst for revenge, and filed it away, since it may be of use later. The Doctor smiled a sad kind of smile, and patted the boy on the back.

"Well then, let's go." He said to the other two.

"Wait, don't we need to…prepare or something?" John asked.

"Well, I don't usually…" The Doctor said, drawing his eyebrows together in thought. "Do you think we should?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, we are about to make an offensive move on a dangerous alien scientist who has managed to keep multiple families captive, crush rebellions, and drain their life force for personal exploitation. Not to mention the fact that apart from the directions of a ten year old boy, we have no idea where we're going, how many henchmen may be about, or how heavily armed they may be. I think that warrants just a bit more preparation than a screwdriver and a fake ID."

John raised his eyebrows in surprise, as Sherlock was practically the poster child for going into a dangerous situation with no plan. The Doctor frowned as Sherlock listed the many odds stacked against them, but smiled again at the mention of his sonic screwdriver and psychic paper.

"Well, I've done more with less." He grinned impishly, and grabbing Charlie's hand, scooted around the console and out the door, Sherlock and John following close behind.

"You'd be surprised what I've accomplished with the psychic paper alone, not to mention my sonic screwdriver. And I think young Charlie here will be of more use than you know."

"Wait, sonic screwdriver? What's that?" John asked. The Doctor kept walking, not looking back.

"It's just like a screwdriver, except it's sonic!" He replied. John sighed, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He made a gun with his fingers and lifted his eyebrows at John, silently asking if he had his Browning with him. John nodded slightly.

"No guns!" The Doctor exclaimed suddenly. "I hate guns." John and Sherlock exchanged a glance, wondering how the Doctor knew what they were thinking without looking back, but just then, they reached a turn in the path. What they saw around the corner shocked them.

A large metal building stood, gleaming and rusting simultaneously in a large round crater, seemingly hollowed out of the canyon walls. It looked horrendously out of place in the darkened canyon, the last rays of the setting suns making it shine like a torch. But if it were at night, the unobtrusive shape of the thing and the tarnished metal would camouflage it quite well amidst the dull gray rock.

Sherlock glanced over it, deducing.

50 meters tall, round building, made of an immensely strong metal alloy, heavily guarded on the inside, no windows, except for the two large ones on the front. Then he made the most surprising deduction yet.

"It's not a building." He muttered.

"Nope." The Doctor agreed.

"So… what is it then? A Ship?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, and started moving again, skirting along the outside of the ship and going over it with a critical eye from closer up. He looked around the clearing, and then called back. "The people will be inside. They're going to be lifting off soon."

"How does he know that?" The Doctor asked quietly, still amazed at the man's penchant for observation. John chuckled a bit, and replied "Haven't the foggiest. And don't ask him either, or we'll be out here for ages." Sherlock didn't say anything, instead focusing on the construction of the hull, looking for possible clues it might give to the corridors or stairwells inside.

"Three levels, no stairwells…" he murmured.

"Probably a lift then." The Doctor said quietly, hands in his pockets. John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.

"A lift?"

"Well, yes. That's generally how people get from one floor to another." The doctor whispered to John, grinning. John rolled his eyes.

"Well yeah, but that's an alien spaceship! Don't they usually have, you know, a teleport or something?" The Doctor frowned.

"No, teleports generally take up too much power. That looks like an old ship—they're generally not too compatible."

Just then, a quiet hum began to permeate the air, causing Charlie to gasp.

"That's what it sounds like when they're powering up the tubes." He whispered, then started running, darting around the three men, running straight on to the ship.

"Wait, Charlie!" John called, then was surprised by Sherlock taking off after the boy, kicking up gray sand and dust that swirled around the edges of his long coat, making him seem to glide over the ground. John gaped, then threw up his hands when the Doctor wordlessly took off after Sherlock, the same sand taking on a brownish tint against his coat, making him seem almost like an extension of the earth he sped across. John shook his head as he ran after them, cursing his short legs for the thousandth time. After five minutes of running, Charlie, Sherlock, and the Doctor had pulled so far ahead that they were only small smudges of dust against the sky. John pushed himself faster, but he was tiring, and the giant ship, which had seemed so close just a minute ago, only seemed to get farther and farther away. He finally stumbled to a halt and could only watch as the long-legged men ducked around a shelf of rock and out of sight.

John sighed, trying to regain his breath. He was used to being left behind by Sherlock, both physically and mentally, but the niggling sense of worry in his gut never got any easier. He grimaced and started moving forwards again, paying closer attention to his surroundings. As he ran, the rocks and brush around him seemed to warp and blur, stretching into odd shapes before snapping back to reality in a different location. John stopped and stared, wonderingly. He walked slowly towards a bush, watching as everything around it moved, but the bush never got any closer. He ran, but he couldn't cross the two meters to the bush. He stopped, then started walking again, glancing at the stretching scenery around him, then stopped as he felt the branches of the bush poke him.

John frowned, then backed up, staring at the bush. When he stopped, he was right where he started. He looked away, then walking backwards, found the distance between him and the bush increasing. Opening his eyes wide, he gasped as the realization hit him.

He got no closer to anything so long as he was looking at it. That's why he couldn't catch up to the others—he had been watching them as he ran.

But that meant that they wouldn't be able to catch each other, either.

John cursed, then stared at the ground next to him and started running, hoping he wasn't too late.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

Charlie ran as fast as he could towards the ship, staring at the ground as he went, watching the various sticks and rocks and endless dust blur around his feet. It was getting hard to breathe, the sand was trying to choke him, and the Keep-Away Field around the ship was desperately pushing him away. But he knew the secret. He would get there soon, as long as he didn't look at it. He could almost hear his mother again. Daddy was gone, now it was his turn to save them.

He had to save them.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

The Doctor chased after Sherlock, silent, wondering how on earth he always managed to get into these situations.

And why he always ended up dragging people who weren't supposed to be there with him.

He ran faster, his twin hearts beating at triple-speed, but Sherlock never got any closer. He frowned, realizing that something was off. Something in the air felt…paused. As if the world was distorted, and time was passing differently in different spots. That wasn't right…then he smacked his forehead. A Time Delusionement Anti-Focus Field! How had he missed that!? He looked down slightly, so he was watching the ground instead of Sherlock's back, and soon saw the whirling hem of Sherlock's black coat in his peripheral vision.

"Sherlock! Don't look at him, you'll never get anywhere!" The Doctor shouted over the wind. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but didn't argue for once, focusing instead on the empty space above the horizon, and felt the air seem to move faster, granting him passage to the ship.

And so the two men chased the boy towards the Bad Doctor's ship.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O

John eventually reached the hull of the ship, panting and out of breath. He leaned against the ship, then hissed and jerked away from the hot metal. It had been baking in the sun all day, and he could see the heat coming off it in waves. He looked around for the others, but couldn't see them. He wondered whether he should wait or try to go on ahead. Looking at the ship, he figured he didn't have much of a choice—there didn't seem to be any way onto the ship. He was about twenty meters from the two large windows, and from what he could tell, there were no other windows or doors anywhere on the ship. Just then, there was a five-second screech that had john covering his ears and wincing, then a small figure appeared in front of the windows. John gaped in astonishment at the…goblin.

Charlie was right, there really was no other word that described them better.

Three-quarters of a meter tall, with a mis-proportioned torso and stick-thin arms and legs, oversized feet, and green, gnarled skin, it looked like something straight out of a picture book. The goblin, which had fallen upon fully materializing, stood up and dusted off its knees, then started jabbering in some strange language and banging on the windows with a misshapen fist.

Eventually, the windows slid open, and the goblin, still muttering angrily, walked in. John stared, unable to believe his luck. He began running towards the doors, staring at the ground as he ate up the meters, pushing himself faster and faster as the doors started to slid close again. With or without Sherlock and the Doctor, he was getting in that ship. Who knows if he, or anyone else, would get another chance?

He slowed down as he neared the doors, darting in just before they slid home. As he slipped between the pieces of glass, they closed on part of his jumper sleeve. He tugged on it, eventually pulling away, but not before unraveling a few threads of the right sleeve, and leaving some threads stuck between the doors.

John looked down the hallway, which went in two directions, and listened intently. Picking out the soft sound of footsteps coming towards him from the left, he moved quickly down the right corridor, hoping that Sherlock and the Doctor were okay, and that he would be able to find them again after this was all over.

**A/N: So, this was borderline filler, but there will be MAJOR stuff happening in the next one, so stay tuned. And thank you all for still reading this, despite a hiatus of Sherlockian proportions.**


	10. Chapter 10- Separated (Apology 2)

**A/N: I am officially a horrible person. In case you hadn't realized it. **_**A solid promise for a new chapter by the end of the month!**_** I said. Well, here we are, four months later. I'm just going to stop promising chapters at a reasonable rate, I just don't have the time for it. If any of you on here are still even remotely interested in this story, I applaud and thank you. Super long chapter for the dedicated and long-suffering readers. **

Charlie skidded to a stop, just barely avoiding a head-on collision with the ship. That was a disadvantage of looking down instead of ahead—you couldn't see what was coming so well. He was surprised to see the Good Doctor and the Pale Man, whom he thought he remembered being called Sherlock stopping behind him. He was glad they were there—he was really scared, and his insides were warring against him. Part of him wanted to run and hide until the Bad Doctor had left, but the other part of him refused let him just leave his family here.

"Okay, so we may be dealing with something more complicated than I thought." The Good Doctor said. Sherlock turned to him questioningly, and the Doctor explained.

"Well, this ship appears to have a Time Delusionement Anti-Focus Field, albeit slightly damaged. I'm guessing this is a second-hand ship, but the only ships that have that were from the Great War of Shalbox. They were all wiped out, every participant, every ship, every planet affected. Nobody understood why, it was just like the universe hated the war so much it just…swallowed it. If they have A Shalboxien ship, then well…well, they shouldn't have a Shalboxien ship!" he ran his hand through his hair, looking closely at the ship. Literally, he put his face up so close to the ship that his nose nearly brushed the hull, as if some piece of dust on the exterior might explain its impossible existence. Sherlock frowned up at the ship, and then began walking around the exterior, trailing a finger across the hull in search of… Charlie didn't know what.

"Well, they didn't have the ship always." Charlie supplied, eager to ease the Good Doctor's distress. The Doctor frowned at him, and Charlie continued.

"It started…building…a few weeks ago. They wanted to be ready to leave, but they needed a special ship, so this one came."

"You said the ship started "building" and then you said it "came" like it just appeared. Which is it?" the Pale Man frowned heavily at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Well, there were whispers in the holding place that they were bringing it here from somewhere else, but we could see it out the window—there were bits and pieces, forming out of thin air, one at a time. Like it was coming here in pieces and then building itself. I mean, there were Goblins watching it, but they never touched it."

The Good Doctor frowned, and exchanged a look with the Pale Man, and the Doctor looked down at his shoes, eyes troubled, deep in thought. The Pale man started to turn around, and then froze. He blinked once, twice, then whirled around, eyes scanning the space rapidly, fingers twitching absently, as if wanting to grab onto something that wasn't there.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

Something was wrong. Sherlock didn't know what exactly, but something felt…off. Not like it was normally. All during his conversation with Charlie and the Doctor, he felt as if something were missing, but the mystery of the ship that shouldn't have been there didn't let him focus on it too much.

God, he was a fool.

He should have realized it right away, but he didn't. It wasn't until there was a lull in the conversation, when it started to feel _really_ wrong. Something should have happened now that wasn't happening. Something to keep them going, something that would have kept them moving forwards, taken that brief pause and turned it into "Well, we should probably…"

John.

Where was John.

Not here, obviously. But he was supposed to be here! He was with them when—oh, shit. He had taken off running after the child, and then he had heard the Doctor take off after him, but John… Sherlock was well aware of John's inability to keep up with him on chases, but he sincerely doubted that with the Disalusionment Field, he would have been able to figure it out and catch up at all. Damn, he must still be back—

But he wasn't. John wasn't back where they started, and he wasn't here with them.

So where was he?!

"John?" he called. There was, of course, no answer. He called again.

Panic, dark and heavy as pitch, began to fill his chest, constricting his throat, sending his brilliant mind into a frenzy. Usually, John helped him calm his mind, but now John was gone, _gone!_ And his mind was tearing itself to shreds looking for his companion. Where was he?! John couldn't have just disappeared, so where was he? He took off looking for him in one direction, scanning the landscape for signs of him, then another direction. Balance of probability…no. Balance of probability says he went…no, either! Balance of…_But there is no Balance of Probability here!_ They're on a blasted alien planet, about to enter a ship that wasn't supposed to exist! Hell, Probability was probably off taking an Advil right about now! But oh god, where was John?!

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

Charlie's eyes widened as the Pale Man kept shouting. Didn't he know he'd alert the goblins?!

"Hush, mister!" He whisper-shouted. The Pale Man ignored him, continuing to shout and walk a few steps in one direction, then turn and go another, hands trembling, eyes wide. The Pale Man was intimidating, but seeing him panic was even more frightening. He didn't seem like someone who panicked easily. He almost felt bad for him—indeed, he was worried about John too, but he wouldn't let the Pale Man mess this up and doom his family. Charlie steeled himself, then ran forwards and grabbed the edge of the man's coat and pulled, nearly falling over, but managing to stop the man for a second.

"Hush!" He said again, and the man paused, but still looked worried.

"Sherlock, if he's not out here, he probably got inside. We need to calm down and find him." The Good Doctor said pleadingly. Sherlock nodded, and then took a deep breath, scanning the area again, but not so panicedly. His eyes lit upon the big windows in the side of the ship, and he started walking towards them determinedly. Charlie and the Doctor hurried to catch up, and as they approached, Sherlock looked up and down the place where the two windows met, and then let out a great sigh.

"He's been through here." He said with thinly masked relief.

"See, I told you." The Doctor said, grabbing his sonic screwdriver from his coat, although he had no idea how Sherlock came to that conclusion. He was just glad the man had stopped freaking out. It was a little disconcerting, to say the least, to see the great detective panicking. The Doctor put the sonic screwdriver up to the windows, and after fiddling with it a bit, the thing produced a high-pitched buzzing sound, glowed blue, and then with a soft whoosh of air, the windows slid open. A bit of fuzz fell to the floor as the windows separated, and Sherlock stooped down to grab it. Threads from John's jumper. He _had_ been through here.

The travelers and the boy went quickly through the windows, the Doctor giving one last glance back to make sure they weren't being followed before they slid shut. Sherlock looked down the twin passageways leading left and right, but had insufficient data to determine which way John had gone.

"Let's go this way!" the Doctor said, going down the right passageway. Sherlock frowned. Surely the Doctor didn't see something he hadn't?

"Why?"

"It's gauche to go left!"* was his only reply. Sherlock frowned. Did the Doctor _really_ just use a French saying about passing food to determine which way they should go?

Apparently.

Charlie eagerly followed the Doctor, and Sherlock reluctantly went after them. It would be unwise to leave the only one who knew anything about anything outside of Earth, so he followed the Doctor down the corridor.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

As they small party left the windows, the hallway got darker and darker. Charlie moved closer to the Doctor, not wanting to get lost. On a strange ship. With the Bad Doctor. He shuddered and reached out, tentatively grabbing the edge of the Good Doctor's jacket.

If he noticed, he didn't let on.

Soon, flat white lights started appearing, embedded in the walls near the floor so you could see the walkway. But the lights were dim and flickering, and Charlie could barely see the Good Doctor frown.

"Connection Problems?" the Pale Man asked, with a smirk. The Good Doctor rolled his eyes at the reference to the Tardis' faulty wiring earlier on.

"Ha, ha. No, there's probably something somewhere else that's draining the power."

"The tubes…" Charlie whispered, fear making his voice tremble a bit.

"No, Charlie, there are no tubes on this ship." The Good Doctor reassured him. But Charlie just shook his head.

"They wouldn't leave them behind!" He insisted. Just then, they came across an intersecting corridor, and stopped, looking down each one. The Pale Man stooped down and picked up something on the ground, rubbing it in between his fingers, where it crumbled and fell to the floor.

"Bread crumbs!" Charlie exclaimed. "Like from mum's stories!" he raced down the hallway, leaving the Pale Man and the Doctor to run after him. Sherlock was slightly unnerved by the fairytale reference—Moriarty had made him a bit apprehensive about those. But he said nothing and followed the little boy, who could honestly run quite fast. Sherlock frowned, wondering what that was all about. The boy kept showing surprising physical strength and speed and endurance, despite the fact that if he was to be believed, he had spent the entirety of his life in one room. He would have to think on it later.

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

John crept silently down the hallway, which looked exactly like the other hallway he had just crept down, which in turn had no observable differences from the _other_ hallways he had been traveling down for the past thirty minutes.

But John wasn't lost. Of course not. He had been in Afghanistan, where there had been nothing but flat, unchanging sand for fifty miles in any direction, and he hadn't gotten lost. But he had a GPS in Afghanistan…

Okay, so maybe John was lost.

He growled and pulled out his mobile phone, checking the screen and finding, to his dismay, that the screen was flashing various colors at him in such a fashion that would have been extremely problematic had he been prone to epilepsy or seizures. He frowned at it, tapping the buttons, and then it suddenly blinked and went black. Well, he supposed he wouldn't be calling the Doctor or Sherlock then.

Suddenly, he heard shuffling behind him, and low mutterings in a strange language. He hurries forwards, hands falling to the gun tucked in his belt as the hallway continues in a straight line without anything to hide behind.

But then, John notices something. It's not very big, or obvious, and in fact, if he hadn't been spending the last few years rooming with Sherlock-I-observe-everything-Holmes, he may well have missed it entirely. But John skids to a stop, presses the square, beige button on the wall, and quickly ducks into the pitch-black closet or whatever it is that just opened. The door slides quietly back into place, and John listens in the inky blackness, holding his breath as the sound of footsteps passes. He breathes a sigh of relief, and then starts fumbling on the wall, looking for the button that will open the door again so he can continue wandering the ship.

His fingers find a small indentation, then the slightly raised surface of the button, and he clicks it, squinting when a large number of bright lights turn on, instead of the door opening like he hoped. When his eyes adjust to the light enough that he can open them fully, John takes in the room he had hidden in.

Because it is most certainly not a closet, like he thought.

In fact, he's not quite sure what it is at all, and he doesn't quite have the energy to figure it out, because John is currently quite absorbed in the action of standing there with his mouth hanging open, desperately hoping that this was a dream. A very _bad_ dream. A nightmare that he will wake up from, and then sit in his bed, listening to Sherlock playing on his violin until he falls asleep again.

Dear god, please let this be just a nightmare.

The room is plain concrete, with lights embedded in the high ceiling, shining down on the only things in the room. Large tubes, about seven feet tall and maybe four feet in diameter, filled with a thin green fluid and the floating bodies of at least fifty people, some looking like normal people, and others that were decidedly alien, of many different species. John manages to close his mouth, and step shakily forwards, towards one of the tubes, which is silent except for a faint hiss and bubble every now and again. The woman inside the tube is fair-skinned, with long blonde hair and eyes shut tight, her face relaxed, but not peaceful. There are hundreds of wires and tubes coming out of various parts of her skin, and her fingers twitch uneasily. John taps quietly on the glass, but she doesn't respond. He notices a clipboard attached to the outside of the tube and glances at it, reading a few numbers and statistics about the occupant of the tube.

**Subject 4092**

**State: unconscious, alive**

**Energy Output: 37 qoz/linear cycle**

**Priority: Level 3**

**Resistance: minimal**

**Strategy: threats, withholding familial relations**

**Time left until total drainage: 4 linear cycles**

John doesn't know what most of this meant, but "threats, withholding familial relations" was pretty straightforward, and he fights back a wave of red-tinged anger. So these were the tubes that Charlie was talking about. John immediately starts looking around for some sort of release mechanism, something to get these people out of here, but there doesn't appear to be any—at least, not on the tube itself. With one last glance to the woman inside the tube, he moves to the closest wall and starts walking, looking for a button or touchpad or something.

Man, he _really_ wishes his phone was working.

* This is something my grandmother used to say. Gauche (pronounced Goshe) means crude or uncultured, but in French it literally translates to "left." The saying basically means it's rude to pass food to your left. The more you know.

**A/N:** **If you wanna comment, go ahead, but I feel like I don't deserve to ask for them anymore. Feel free to yell at me though. Also, in case anyone was wondering, I have zero plans for abandoning this story. If it takes me 100 years, I WILL FINISH THIS.**


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